Lips Sewn Shut
by craple
Summary: Chronicle – 2012: "I haven't had sex since, ever." Andrew says, and it's not exactly a lie, not really. Matt/Andrew.


Written for Josh Trank's Chronicle, cause I just can't get the images of Matt/Andrew out of my head. Plus the movie was pretty awesome.

* * *

Steve's room is nicer than Matt's, much better than his, and although it's not exactly the epitome of a clean-slate laboratory or some shit, it suffices. The bed is not made, dim yellowish light of the desk-lamp glows as their only source of light, golden medals and award certificates plastered neatly on the wall instead of Matt's posters of hot chicks or scrambles and doodles of ninjas like the ones in his room.

Andrew plops down on the nightstand as Steve takes the chair while Matt settles comfortably on the bed, facing them, facing _him_. He pushes the button then lets the camera afloat, hides his face from sight behind the four-inch screen.

"How does she not notice though?" asks Matt, crackling a bit. Steve makes this face of disbelief, the chair shifts slightly under his weight.

"Come on, let's be serious guys. She definitely noticed that it's gotten better. You just gotta be, you know…" he trails, hands shuffling in the air and brows wrinkled together in mock-concentration. Matt bumps their knees together. Pointedly not looking at Andrew but there's a half-smirk that turns his insides to jelly on his face.

"Yeah?" he persuades, voice goes a timbre lower, deeper than he intends to, and they all crack down. Well, Steve does crack down, Andrew too, but Matt just rolls his eyes before lying on his back on Steve's bed. Andrew watches the hem of the shirt hiking up, stares at the silver of tan skin beneath, looks away.

"Dude, I haven't had sex since summer!" Matt exclaims and nudges his foot at the underside of Andrew's knee. He bites at the dry skin of his lower lip, reminds himself of a sweaty whimpering body above him in a shower stall of Seattle Summer Camp's house, then pokes at Matt's thigh with the camera's strap.

"I haven't had sex since, _ever_." Andrew says, and it's not exactly a lie, not really.

Matt stays quiet after that. Dim light falling on his face makes the tanned skin glow orange. Andrew thinks that he might have stepped a line there, listening to Steve's voice of disbelief but keeps his eyes locked on his cousin. When Matt looks back though, there's a Cheshire cat's grin on his face, a mischievous glint on his eyes, so Andrew thinks they're okay.

Silence stretches in the room as they prepare to sleep. Andrew takes the main bed after winning three rounds of rock, paper, scissor; Steve takes the other bed basically because the house is his which leads to Matt taking the couch. He takes one of Andrew's (Steve's) pillows to sleep with though, as compensation of sorts, and Andrew's cool with that. It's not like he needs more than one to begin with anyway.

One of Matt's feet is dangling off the couch, fingertips trailing the pattern of the expensive carpet absentmindedly. There's a moment or two until Steve starts snoring, the static noises from the TV getting louder as midnight approaches, and he thinks that Matt is probably uncomfortable like that. Andrew leaps off the bed, sets the piles of sheet aside before crouching down by the couch. He takes Matt's leg gently, bends the other by knee to settle the one he holds comfortably across the couch.

"The role of the innocent virgin doesn't suit you Drew," comes the low murmur above him. Andrew looks up to meet Matt's unwavering gaze beneath his arm, placed horizontally across his forehead.

A smile threatens to slip past Andrew's face, along with the small chuckle on the base of his throat. He settles on shrugging casually instead. "A handjob is not sex. They're different." _You should know_, he wants to add. Matt snickers but doesn't disagree.

They stay like that for a while; Andrew rubbing small circles on the carpet, head leaning against Matt's thigh. Strong hand tangles itself into his hair, stroking his scalp with blunt nails, and Andrew sighs contently against the touch.

"Do you want to?" Matt asks quietly, softly, tilting Andrew's head to look at his face. "Sex."

It's not like he never thinks about it either, sex with Matt. The first time his cousin approached him during summer camp, they ended up in a dirty shower stall that smelled of wet dogs and horse's shit, but Matt's hand had been inside his pants, stroking him like he has all the time in the world, and Andrew had gone down to his knees.

He wants to, yes, but not now. Not with Steve sleeping soundly in the room, not like this.

"We'll talk later." Andrew replies quietly, then kisses Matt's knuckles one by one.

Later, once he has settled down on the bed again, Andrew tunes to the steady sound of Matt's breathing and _breathes_.


End file.
